Keep My Sword
by Hyarrowen
Summary: A year after the events of "The Gleam in the North", Keith Windham's half-brother pays a visit to Ardroy. Mention of major character death.


Donald and Keithie had been sent to bed long since; Alison and Aunt Marget had retired an hour ago, and Ewen had repaired with Viscount Aveling to his study to consider their journey to Morar, whither they would depart tomorrow.

"I have enjoyed meeting your family, Mr. Cameron, and were it not an impertinence, I could wish to regard myself as an honorary uncle to little Keith."

"It is no impertinence." Ewen spoke from the heart; Keithie would find such a connection of great help in years to come, and Ewen himself was more happy than he could easily say at the idea.

"I know I am not the Englishman you would wish to see here..."

"My lord. You are most welcome in your own right, not just as his brother – for one thing, there is the help you and your father gave us last year."

"Which was not sufficient. If we could have done more for Dr. Cameron..."

""You would have done. Think no more of it, I beg." The memory was still too painful to speak of much; like so many of Ewen's memories.

"Then I will not," said Aveling. He smiled, his face half-shadowed in candlelight and firelight across the desk from Ewen. "And I owe you thanks for the excuse you have given me to travel to Scotland again – to see Georgina, as well as to visit my brother's grave."

"I hope your suit will prosper."

"We have fixed it between us that I will ask General Churchill for her hand after my return from Morar." Aveling looked as happy and apprehensive as any young lover might at the prospect. "But before that, I have a guest-gift for you. Do you wait here, Mr. Cameron, and I will fetch it."

He got up, young and lithe and swift, and left the study. So quiet was the house that his footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs, light though they were. Ewen got up, and tended to the meagre fire while he was gone.

The study door opened again, and the young Englishman reappeared, holding -

A sheathed sword. Long, heavy and curved. A British infantry officer's sword. Ewen stared at it in astonishment.

"It was my brother's. He would want you to have it, I think." Aveling held it out across the desk, and Ewen sat down suddenly. His hands rose of their own volition to take it. He could not speak for a moment or two.

Then he said, "But, my lord, it should stay with you. You are his brother – his dearest relation - "

"My father gave me a pair of swords when I came of age, better suited to my stature! This is too heavy for me; I could never use it." The young man regarded Ewen with a glimmer of a smile. "After all, I have many memories of him, and you have all too few. Take it, I beg. Here's a letter from my father, granting you the right to carry it." He set the letter down on the desk, the Stowe arms showing clearly on the seal.

All protests died on Ewen's lips. He half-drew the sword, quite unable to speak. The firelight ran down the steel with a sudden flicker of scarlet, the same colour as a soldier's coat.

He set his right hand upon the blade and held it with great gentleness for a few moments; then opened his fingers again and looked at the palm. Two parallel scars were still faintly visible there, the same width as the sword he had just grasped. It was the very same weapon with which Keith had attacked him, that windy night in Edinburgh long ago.

"Thank-you. I should not take it – but thank-you," he whispered.

"He would wish you to have it," Aveling repeated, and smiled at him, with all his characteristic sweetness and charm. "Now. I will bid you goodnight, Mr. Cameron, until tomorrow."

The door swung quietly shut behind him. Ewen sheathed Keith Windham's sword again.

He seemed to hear words, spoken in a voice still dear to him after so many years.

 _Keep my sword; 'tis the second of mine you have had!_

They were the same words Keith had spoken at Edinburgh, but this time they were amused and affectionate, not bitter as they had been then. Ewen smiled, and held the sword flat against his breast, hugging it to him, with his cheek upon the hilt; and if a tear or two fell upon the scabbard, there was no-one but himself and Keith to know.

END


End file.
